


Silent Pleas CONTINUED

by places_we_wont_walk



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fic Continuation, M/M, SnowBaz, carry on, fic of a fic of a fic?, i forgot the most important tag nice, pining Baz, simon dreams about baz, slow burn?, snowbaz skips politickal science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 04:18:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14417520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/places_we_wont_walk/pseuds/places_we_wont_walk
Summary: this is a continuation of the wonderful "My Silent Pleas" by catsandladyluck. snowbaz messes up a communication spell and end up magically bound.i loved the fic so much that i had to continue it somehow <3





	Silent Pleas CONTINUED

**Author's Note:**

> *PLEASE READ THE FIC BEFORE STARTING!!!*  
> here is the link, (idk how to make links work im sorry):  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/10714470/chapters/23737185
> 
> my writing begins directly after the end of this ^ fic, after: "But not a second after that thought, Simon drifted off to sleep."

**_Baz_ **

Baz returned to find Snow sprawled out on his bed, asleep with his shoes on, hair illuminated by his desk lamp. _Fucking disaster_. He glanced down again at his arm, which now had a golden smudge of ink near his wrist, the only remaining evidence of his abandoned message. Of course Baz had noticed the words as soon as they had appeared, how could anyone not notice Snow’s magic? It burned and crackled and felt so _alive_ , it was in stark contrast to anything Baz had ever felt on his skin.

_Where are_

Baz could hardly believe that these words had come from Snow, as his attempts at conversation with Baz aside from fighting numbered almost zero. Yet only Snow could fuck up such a simple communication spell to this degree, so it must have been him, writing a question to Baz, still awake at 2am, thinking about Baz enough to ask him where… _where, what?_

Baz tried to bite down his curiosity along with this dangerously wandering thought, but before he could stop himself, he was kneeling beside Snow’s bed and ever so delicately turning over his arm. Despite the warm blood now coursing through Baz’s veins, Snow’s skin still burned against his hand. Baz had just enough time to make out the identical black smudge on Snow’s arm before Snow shifted, grumbling in his sleep. Baz snatched his hand back and leapt, catlike, onto his own bed, where he lay, feigning sleep until Snow’s breathing slowed once more. So he had written it after all. Baz tried to stifle the almost giddy – _Crowley, giddy, Basil, really?_ – prickling in his stomach. Cracking open an eye, Baz sighed as he watched the rise and fall of his roommate’s stomach. After a long moment, he drank in a final eyeful of Snow lying there, _glowing_ in the lamplight before murmuring “ ** _Make a wish!”_ ** at the lamp, shrouding the room in darkness, and rolling toward the wall to drift asleep.

 

**_Simon_ **

Simon jolted awake to the surface of most of his skin throbbing and tingling with warmth. Sunlight was already streaming into the room, which made Simon leap out of bed, his head swimming with the shock of suddenly being upright. _Fuck. Fuck that is not good._ Simon grabbed his crappy IKEA clock from his desk. 9:47. _Fuck fuck I’ve missed half of Magickal Words fuck._ He was drawn out of his panic, however, by the continued, now frantic throbbing on his entire left side. Simon looked down at his arm only to shout in horror. It had been covered completely in cramped, perfect cursive:

_The majority of modern-day communication spells originate from the sixteenth century, when Normal-born Scottish mage Tertius used such spells to communicate with his beloved and later, their children…_

It went on, notes upon notes from their Magickal Words textbook crammed into every patch of skin on his arm. Simon pushed up his left sleeve to see that the writing was rapidly extending towards his collarbone, leaving behind the warm and tingling sensation that was unmistakably Baz’s magic. Fuming, Simon immediately took a pen from Baz’s desk and scrawled a message back on his free arm, his writing even messier than usual from using his left hand.

_BAZ WHAT THE FUCK_

Immediately, Simon’s right arm began to shimmer, and words appeared, as perfect and curvy as ever. _Are you serious? Is he ambidextrous, too? The prat._

_Since you’ve decided to sleep outside of lessons today, I’ve decided to take notes for you. You should be thanking me, Snow._

_I hate you_

_Now, now, Snow, is that how you properly thank someone who is trying to keep you from failing yet another class? I would expect more from the ever-charming Mage’s Heir. Also, stop using my pen._

Simon whirled around, expecting to see some kind of security camera or Baz himself. He wouldn’t be surprised if Baz had figured out how to spy on him at this point, he was always _watching_ , the bastard. He growled and threw the pen onto Baz’s desk before shouldering his bag and storming out of the door. He needed to put a stop to this as soon as possible.

 

****

**_Baz_ **

The door flew open, hitting Miss Possibelf’s desk with a bang that startled the silent classroom, and there stood Snow, breathing heavily, his lips parted and his blue eyes angrily drilling into Baz’s face. Baz noticed with satisfaction his golden writing on Snow’s neck and he gave Snow one of his (at least) top five sneers.

“I am pleased that you could join us, Mr. Snow,” Miss Possibelf said sternly. “You may place last night’s homework on my desk.”

Snow turned as if he was seeing the professor for the first time. His ears reddened. “Oh..erm…I…”

Miss Possibelf sighed. “You may take your seat. Next to Mr. Pitch, that is,” she added as Snow began to shuffle like a chastened child towards Bunce. Baz smirked down at his books as he felt Snow drop heavily into the seat beside him. As soon as Miss Possibelf moved away to check the other students’ work, he muttered “I fucking hate you.” 

“I’m quite aware, Snow, as you’ve written it on my arm.”

Snow ignored this and instead whispered, “Did you ask Miss Possibelf about how to undo the spell?”  

Much to his frustration, Baz felt his stomach drop ever so slightly at the mention of ending this albeit indirect contact with Simon’s skin. “Seeing as you’re the one who somehow fucked it up, I decided to leave that humiliation to you.” 

“Thanks, Baz.”

“Don’t mention it,” Baz sneered, ignoring Snow’s growl as he returned to his textbook. 

Ten minutes later (Snow had been very late), Miss Possibelf dismissed them, and Baz smiled smugly to himself as put away his things, watching Snow fumble towards her desk. His smugness was replaced by exasperation, however, when Snow flung an arm in front of the door and growled, “You’re not going anywhere, Baz. You’re part of this too, remember?”

Baz narrowed his eyes but moved to stand beside Snow as Miss Possibelf clicked toward them on her heeled boots. “May I help you, boys?”

Baz looked pointedly at Snow, who sighed before mumbling, “Ma’am, I had some..trouble with the spell we did yesterday that made me and Baz” – a glare – “connected, and… we – we’re still well, _connected_ …”

He held his left forearm up to Miss Possibelf, who raised her eyebrows at the ridiculous amount of Baz’s words. “I see you boys have been practicing.” Baz felt heat on his cheeks as Snow turned to glare at him again, and he prayed that the blood from last night was no longer in his system.

Snow turned back to the professor. “A-Anyway, I…we were wondering if… er..”

Baz sighed and stepped forward. “If you could help with undoing Simon’s mistake, ma’am.” 

Baz felt Simon’s head snap sideways and his eyes burn into his cheek. _What? Oh. Oops. Snow._

“As long as Mr. Snow pictured a clear image of you while casting, I don’t see why it wouldn’t have worked.” 

“I _did_ picture him,” Snow mumbled before hastily adding, “Professor.”

Baz tugged at his cuffs, trying not to think about Snow picturing his face.

“Well, if you simply pictured Mr. Pitch, I can’t think of any reason for its lasting so long. It seems you will have to wait for the spell to wear off.” Mrs. Possibelf draped her coat over her arm, ignoring Snow’s groan. “Good day, boys. And I expect to see your homework tomorrow, Mr. Snow.”

 

**_Simon_ **

Simon had stormed off to their room before Baz could tease him, but as soon as he slammed the door behind him, he felt that irritatingly familiar warmth as a new word shimmered next to the slightly faded ones.

_Idiot._

Simon kicked the wall nearest to him before diving onto his mattress with a groan and burying his head in his arms. Moments later, he heard the door quietly click open as calm, collected, _infuriating_ Baz stepped into the room. The git then began to dramatically slow clap. “Nice work, Snow. Really, well fucking done.”

Simon clenched his teeth. “You know, this is just as much a pain in my arse, if not more.” 

“Oh? How so?”

Simon held up his forearm, still crammed with Baz’s handwriting, in answer. Baz raised a mocking eyebrow. “I would feel oh so sorry for you, Snow, but unfortunately this is still entirely your fault.”

Simon sputtered. “My fau- you distracted me, Baz! You made my magic…spill!” 

Baz took up one of his pretentious, ancient books, and sat on his bed. “You’re the only mage whose magic can ‘spill.’” He mockingly emphasized the last word. “Probably because you were never meant to be a mage in the first place.”

Simon sat up fully at this, magic boiling. “Sod _off_.”

Baz chuckled snidely.   _Git. Prat. Arsehole._ Simon tried to curb the anger and magic rolling off of him in waves. He was sure Baz could feel it, he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Well, how are we going to get rid of this spell? Miss Possibelf said that if I thought of you as I cast – and I did – then there’s no way I could’ve fucked up.” 

Baz’s eyes flicked up from his book. “The spell is supposed to last longer if you attach a feeling to it while casting. Are you sure you didn’t attach your deep-rooted hatred for your nemesis?” 

Simon scoffed. “Of course I didn’t. Why would I want to be connected to you for longer than five minutes?”

Baz frowned slightly and narrowed his eyes, and Simon thought he saw something there. Anger? Hatred? Hurt? _No, of course not. Baz hates me to my core. Didn’t he just call me ‘nemesis’?_ Simon realized he was absentmindedly running his fingers along Baz’s writing on his arm, which was barely there by now. He met Baz’s eyes to find he was watching him, and felt his neck and cheeks flush as Baz raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe…maybe we should test it,” Simon said. “Like, to see how it works so we can figure out how to stop it.”

Baz looked incredulous, like Simon was somehow acting more stupid than usual. “Test it,” he repeated.

“ _Yes_. Like, right now, the words you wrote – all over my left side, by the way” – Baz laughed, and it almost sounded…real? “They’ve just started to fade now,” Simon continued. “So we know that they only last about an hour.” _No way that laugh was real. He isn’t human, in any sense of the word._

“Another stunning deduction by the Chosen One,” Baz said snidely. _Nope, definitely still an arse._

“ _So,_ ” Simon ignored him, “Now we just have to figure out if there’s, like… a way to make them fade faster, or…or…” He trailed off.

Baz turned a page of his book. “And you don’t have a plan. Again.”

Simon balled his fists. “Fuck off, Baz, that’s what I’m trying to do right now.”

Baz finally closed the book and laid it carefully on his desk. “Alright, Snow, I’ll play along. But only because I want to get rid of this infernal spell.”

 

**_Baz_ ** ****

_I don’t want to get rid of this infernal spell. And even if I did_ , Baz thought, _it seems more than unlikely that we’d get any closer to solving it with Snow’s help._

Snow was now pacing in the small space between their beds. The words Baz had written were now completely gone from his left arm. He abruptly stopped in front of Baz’s bed. “Write something.”

“What?”

“On your arm. Write something to me."

Baz sighed. “Fine, but I have to wash this off first,” he said, gesturing to the black ink that still crowded his left arm.

Snow raised an eyebrow. “And whose fault is that?” _Hey, that’s my thing._  

Baz glared at him before stalking to the bathroom. He was horrified to see that in the mirror, his cheeks had a dusting of pink on them. It was nothing compared to the ridiculous show that happened when Snow blushed, but it was still obviously more than Baz’s usual bloodless completion. Baz began to turn on the tap, then stopped, snorting at himself, and pointed his wand at left arm. **_“Out, out, dammed spot!”_** The black ink on his left arm vanished.

Returning to their room, Baz found Snow sitting on his bed. He felt more blood fill his cheeks. _Merlin, why did I drink so much last night?_ “Snow, get off my bed.”

Snow ignored him and instead took a pen from Baz’s desk, pointing it at him. “Write something.”

Baz let out an exasperated sigh and snatched away the pen as he sat beside him.

_Simon Snow is a flaming idiot._

Snow immediately grabbed the pen from Baz’s hand.

_Basil Pitch is a prick._

_Basil._ Baz turned away slightly so Snow couldn’t see the blush that was already returning to his face. “I’m sorry, Snow, what does that say? It’s illegible.”

Snow threw the pen back onto the desk. Baz felt his magic crackling through the air and piercing his skin like an invisible current.

“Now, if we figure out how to make the words disappear, maybe that will make the spell disappear.”

Baz had opened his mouth to ask Snow how exactly that would undo the spell when Snow whipped his wand from his back pocket. Baz flinched. “Merlin and Morgana, Snow! Spare me-“

 ** _“Out, out, dammed spot!”_** Snow cast at his own arm with much too magic, as always, setting the air afire with invisible flames.

“Fucking Crowley, Snow!” Baz shouted as salt-and-vinegar crumbs from under his bed swirled with muck and dirt from Snow’s football clothes into some sort of disgusting tornado, which contracted, setting the papers on both of their desks and a mug Bunce had left flying into the air before disappearing.

Snow raked his hand through his curls and dropped his wand. The golden words remained etched into his forearm. Baz stood and jabbed his wand at the scattered paper and shards of ceramic. **_“As you were!” “Good as new!”_**

“Snow, you absolute disaster,” Baz muttered. “I’ll be doing the casting this time.” Baz pointed his wand at his arm, again murmuring **_“As you were!”_** but Snow’s abhorrent writing refused to fade.

Snow groaned and let himself fall onto his back. “Do you remember anything from your notes?”

“If you had bothered to stay awake in Magickal Words, then perhaps you would’ve remembered something useful yourself.”

Snow glared at him. “I only fall asleep because I have to stay awake for you. You’re out till three every night.”

This took Baz by surprise. He tried to sneer. The throbbing in his palm where he had first connected himself to Snow was growing.

Snow’s eyes grew wide and his cheeks flushed. “I-I mean, because I don’t want you to kill me or something in my sleep,” he stuttered. Baz continued to stare. Simon looked away. “ _Anyway_ , do you have any ideas?” 

Baz decided to let this go, for now. “All we’ve learned is that in order to cast **_I cast you these, my silent pleas_** , you need to clearly picture your target. And that attaching a memory or strong feeling makes the spell last longer.”

Snow was picking at the skin of his arm. “Well, like I said, I didn’t use any feeling or memory when casting, and I don’t know why I would. All you’ve done is make my life at Watford hell.” 

Baz balled the fist Snow couldn’t see in his sheets. It felt like someone had grabbed hold of his stomach and was twisting, pulling, filling him with aching. “You’ve done the same to me, Snow.” It was true. _You have no idea how much pain you put me in, Snow_. Baz thought, not for the first time, about giving up. He didn’t know which mad part of him made him hold on to something so hopeless. 

Baz was drawn out of his thoughts when Snow gave a yelp. “Look at this, Baz!” He shoved his arm almost into Baz’s nose, who jumped back instinctively. “It’s fading! And it hasn’t even been ten minutes.” Sure enough, Baz’s freshly written insult was growing dimmer by the second.

“Do you think my spell worked?”

Baz scoffed. “Not bloody likely.”

 

**_Simon_ **

Much to Simon’s frustration, Penny echoed Baz when Simon asked her about undoing the spell at dinner. “As long as you spoke clearly and imagined Baz when casting” – 

 – “I _did_ , I couldn’t erase that git’s face from my mind if I tried” –

 – “Then I don’t know why it’s lasted so long, Simon. And if Miss Possibelf doesn’t have any other ideas, then I think you’ll just have to wait this one out.”

Simon groaned for what must have been the fifteenth time that day, and shoved a forkful of Yorkshire pudding and peas into his mouth. “Bu’ ah don’ _want_ ta be connected to tha’ arse” 

Penny turned the page of the hefty-looking tome she was levitating over her plate with her ring. “I can’t understand you when you speak with your mouth full, Simon.” In moments like these, Penny reminded Simon of Baz. Simon pushed that thought away as quickly as it had come. He scanned the other side of the room to see Baz sitting there now. He locked eyes with Simon before turning towards one of his cronies, to mutter something nasty, no doubt. Simon swallowed his mouthful. “He’s always _staring_ , Penny, and plotting, and teasing me, and now I’ve got him attached to my fucking arm all day and night.”

Penny sighed and sipped her Ribena. Simon knew how ridiculous Penny found his claims that Baz was always plotting his death. But if he wasn’t plotting, what else would all the stares and the disappearing into the night be for?

“Anyway, I’m sure we can agree that he’s a nasty git, and I need to undo this spell as soon as possible,” Simon grumbled.

 

**_Baz_ **

Baz disappeared for the majority of each night because the only way he could fall asleep without thoughts of Snow tormenting him for hours beforehand was if he stumbled into their room, so ready to collapse into his bed from exhaustion that even thinking of Snow took too much mental effort. He’d hunt in the catacombs and then just sit against the bones for hours, talking to the drained rat corpses and his mother’s grave until the stone floor began to swim and he’d have to run to their room before he crumpled somewhere on the grounds.

Of course, Baz knew all too well that not thinking of Snow was close to impossible, and some nights he would lie awake, studying the contour of Snow’s jaw in the moonlight, his cruel brain dragging him down well-trodden paths of fantasy and pain and stealing away his few precious hours of sleep.

This was one of those nights.

He saw Simon smiling at him, his fingers intertwined in Baz’s, as Baz let his thumb run lightly along the moles on Simon’s knuckles. He felt Simon’s back pressed into his chest, filling Baz with his ridiculous heat, felt his face in his hair, and if he breathed in he could pretend that Simon’s pine-needle scent from across the room was right beneath his nose. But it wasn’t enough, it was never enough, because it wasn’t real, and it was never going to be real. Pain laced with the affection that had been throbbing through Baz’s chest, causing it to expand to his throat with love and longing and pure _feeling_. 

Baz scrambled up to sit on his bed. Mere feet away, he could see the last words he had etched into Simon’s skin glowing brighter than ever on the arm that hung off of Simon’s bed.

_“Picturing their faces tends to work fine, but if there is a memory or feeling tied to that image, your connection becomes stronger and can last up to twice as long.”_

_Aleister Crowley, I’ve fucked up._

**_Simon_ **

Baz was walking beside him. They were walking up a grassy hill, warm sunlight streaming down on both of them. Baz’s dark hair was loose and fluttering in the slight wind.

Simon shoved Baz’s arm. “Baz, you’re a vampire. Shouldn’t you be out of the sun?”

Baz shoved Simon back, harder. _Vampire strength._ His lip curled. “That’s none of your business, Snow.”

Simon growled and rounded on Baz so that he was the one uphill, taller for once. “You need to call me Simon. You called me that before.” 

Baz sneered, and Simon felt familiar frustration rising through him. “I need to do no such thing. Snow.”

That was all it took. Simon gave a final growl and pounced on Baz, tackling him to the grass. They rolled down the hill, faster and faster, Baz locked in his arms, but instead of the usual punches and jabs and curses everything was…soft and warm and _close._ So close. Everything had stopped spinning, and the only thing in Simon’s world was Baz’s chiseled features and grey eyes and soft hair tickling his cheeks, centimeters away.

Simon gasped as he bolted upright. The sunlight was gone, but the warmth was still there, tingling and throbbing and coursing through his whole body, beginning in his left arm. The IKEA clock read 3:47. Across the room, Baz was staring at him, then at his arm, then back again. _Baz._

 _Oh. Oh shit._ Could vampires read minds? Did Baz…see any of that? _Gods, please, I hope not._

Simon noticed a faint golden glow emanating from Baz’s forearm. He squinted. That wasn’t right, his writing had faded from Baz’s arm hours ago. “Baz… your arm is glowing,” he said stupidly.

“Excellent observation, Snow.” He sounded choked.

“My arm is pulsing. Like it did when you cast the spell.”

Baz was silent. Then, “Mine is too. You’re…also glowing.” 

Simon’s head snapped downwards to see Baz’s perfect handwriting shimmering on his left arm. “How…? It faded ages ago..” Simon looked back up to narrow his eyes at Baz. “Did you…did you do something?” 

Baz glared back. “No. Did you?”

Simon thought of Baz’s face, closer than it had ever been. He thought of the warm, tingling feeling that came with Baz’s magic. And then he decided that was far too much to think about, especially at three in the morning. He punched at his pillow and fell back onto it. “I don’t know, Baz. I’m too tired for this shit.” There was no way he’d be staying awake in Magickal Words tomorrow.

 

**_Baz_ **

The Magickal Words class was lined up outside, waiting for Miss Possibelf as usual. Bunce was scolding Simon for looking exhausted again. Snow was obviously not listening, and instead was ducking his head, cheeks flushing each time Baz met his eyes, as if Baz couldn’t see him stealing glances at him every five seconds. He had never seen the Chosen One act so skittish. This morning he had showered and dashed out the door in ten minutes, forgetting his tie.

Baz thought back to last night. He had been staring at Snow’s arm and the freshly glowing words on it, and then just as he realized he’d fucked up more than he ever had in their seven years at Watford, Snow began to shift. He was murmuring unintelligibly and a ghost of a smile had whispered across his face, and his words on Baz’s skin had started to shimmer back into view. And then Snow had stopped squirming and Baz unmistakably heard something that caused the blooming in his chest to explode. Snow had giggled, and sighed, and whispered… “…Baz.”

 _Was he faking it? Is he fucking with me? Was he dreaming about finally killing me?_ None of these explained Snow smiling in his sleep, the tenderness in his voice when he spoke Baz’s name, the way he was acting now, and most importantly, the nearly unbearable throb of Snow’s magic coursing through Baz’s body that had begun that night. Baz knew that Snow surely must be feeling Baz’s magic just as much, seeing as he kept tugging at the skin where Baz’s words shone even now, hours later. _And_ , Baz added bitterly, _seeing as I’ve accidentally created an unbreakable bond with my nemesis through my undying love for him._

When Miss Possibelf had asked Baz to imagine Snow along with a feeling, Baz had closed his eyes and effortlessly brought up blue eyes, bronze curls, and moles dotting constellations across his skin. And along with this image, he had poured in imagined places they’d never walk, Snow smiling at him like Baz was the only thing he’d ever need to see, a chest full of want, and of hurt, of knowing it would never happen. When Baz opened his eyes he had glanced quickly at Snow, afraid that he had noticed them being closed for a little too long.

Baz was thoroughly convinced that it would never happen. That he was doomed to love his idiot roommate for eternity with nothing coming of it. Until last night, that was. Until Baz had heard his idiot roommate who supposedly loathed him giggling and whispering his name into his pillow.

Baz decided that the worst that could happen was that Simon would go back to hating him, which he wasn’t even sure he had stopped in the first place. He fished a pen out of his bag and lifted it over his forearm, writing in tiny script:

_It seems you can’t get enough of me today, Snow. May I ask why?_

Baz watched with satisfaction as Snow whipped around to glare (and blush) at him, before taking a pen from Bunce’s stack of books. 

_Sod off._

Before Baz could respond, Miss Possibelf appeared in the corridor and ushered them inside. Snow made a beeline for the back to sit in his usual spot, and Baz, smirking, sat at the front. _You’re not getting out of this that easily, Snow._

Miss Possibelf clicked to the front of the room. “Today, students, is your final day of note-taking” – a few scattered whoops peppered the air – “Tomorrow you will share your results in groups.”

The professor began to weave between the desks, and Baz picked up his pen as soon as she passed his. 

_I’m appalled, really. You managed to make this spell even more permanent than I thought possible. Well done, Chosen One._

Baz drew an arrow to where “ _Basil Pitch is a prick”_ was still written in gold.

_Fuck off, Baz, aren’t you supposed to be reading?_

Baz felt Simon’s magic crackling through the air. The other students could feel it too, he could see them shifting uncomfortably, and many wore an annoyed expression. Baz felt a strange rush of defensiveness. It wasn’t _Snow’s_ fault that his magic leaked and spilled every time he felt something.

_I could ask you the same thing, Snow._

_You’re distracting me._

Baz smirked down at his arm, tasting Snow’s magic rising on his tongue. Then he frowned, because this time, it wasn’t the overwhelming, lightning-like sheer power that came with Snow’s anger. This time, his magic was fizzing in all directions, erratic, nervous. Like static. If it hadn’t been, Baz might not have written what he did now. (Mostly for fear that Snow would set everyone’s textbooks ablaze again.)

_I’m sure this isn’t the first time I’ve distracted you, Snow. You stare at me so much, I should think that you’re the one who’s plotting._

**_Simon_ **

_Fuck. He knows. Vampires can read minds and he’s in my head and he knows._

“…Simon? …Simon.” Simon turned far too quickly and gasped in pain, rubbing at the crick in his neck. Penny was staring at him in an irritatingly Baz-like manner. “Simon, are you alright?”

“Yeah…fine."

“Did you stay up all night waiting for Baz again?" 

Simon felt heat rush up his neck. “I haven’t fallen asleep, have I? And don’t say it like that, it sounds weird.”

Penny opened her mouth as if to argue, but then pursed her lips, apparently thinking better of it. Simon began to turn back to his work only to see Baz giving him a smug look. Simon tried to give him a death glare, but he was sure that its effectiveness was hindered by the red that now filled his cheeks.

_Fuck you._

It wasn’t the most eloquent thing to write, but Simon was emotionally (and generally) exhausted. He dropped his pen and immediately drifted to sleep.

 

**_Baz_ **

No one was left in the classroom but Baz and Penny – and Snow, who was still asleep at his desk. Penny pushed past Baz, whispering “I have a class” apologetically before speedwalking towards the door. Baz sighed.

“Snow.” Nothing.

Baz couldn’t imagine Snow _not_ accidentally setting him on fire if he shoved him in any way, so instead he raised Snow’s pen to his wrist.

_Snow. Wake up._

Simon’s eyelids fluttered, then slowly blinked open as the golden letters shimmered onto his arm. _Crowley._ His blue eyes focused on Baz, then widened, and a moment later he was out the door, books nearly tumbling out of his hands

Baz exhaled slowly, then followed, dreading the conversation that would happen next, despite his cockiness this morning.

Snow was sitting on the windowsill when Baz opened the door, fiddling with his shitty mobile and clearly trying to seem nonchalant. Baz gently pushed the door closed behind him, and then stopped, staring, completely at a loss on how to move forward.

Eventually Snow hesitantly raised his head, eyes focusing to the left of Baz’s head before settling on his face. He paused, then gulped. 

“Can vampires read minds?” 

Baz laughed; too loud, too genuine. Snow glared, but he almost seemed to soften.

“Yes, Snow, I’ve been predicting your every move since first year.”

Snow tensed again and jumped to the floor, but then fell slack when he saw the teasing in Baz’s face. “Oh.”

Baz stepped forward, raising an eyebrow. “You aren’t running off to turn me in to the Mage now that I’ve proven what I am through my psychic abilities?”

Snow shrugged, blushing faintly. Baz felt the familiar blooming begin in his chest, somehow stronger than it had ever been, and in that moment he knew that somehow everything had changed, that Snow would never hurt him. Snow stared as the gold letters on his arm shimmered and glowed. _“Simon Snow is a flaming idiot.”_

Baz swallowed, and took the remaining few steps he needed to stand before (above) Snow. His magic, his electric, fizzing, wonderful magic, was coursing through Baz, beginning at the throb in his wrist and spreading throughout his body. Baz didn’t need to look to know that Simon’s words from yesterday were shining gold against his grey skin. He encircled Simon’s wrist with his fingers and lifted his arm so that Baz’s neatly written insult shimmered between their faces. “It’s true, you know,” Baz murmured.

Simon shoved his arm downwards, and Baz braced himself for the oncoming blow, but instead he was met with soft lips and warm hands on either side of his neck. The kiss was slow and quiet and _certain_ , like Simon had never been more sure in his life. 

Baz’s stomach lurched achingly when Simon’s mouth retreated, though it was only just barely, and his lips were still brushing against Baz’s, sending tingles across them. He smirked as Baz leaned forward in embarrassing desperation and pressed his palm against Baz’s chest.

“So you _can_ read minds?” His breath was warm against Baz’s skin, and he was sure it was making his hair stand on end.

“Why, were you thinking of me?”

Simon’s hand whispered up Baz’s neck, and he began to draw little lines along his jaw with his thumb. Baz shivered. “Answer the question,” Simon whispered.

“You were moaning my name in your sleep, Snow.” Baz smirked as Simon’s thumb froze in place.

“Crowley.” Baz had never seen Simon’s cheeks so red. 

“What were you dreaming about?” Baz asked softly. He brought his fingers up to rest under Simon’s chin and stared straight into those endless blue eyes.

Simon’s eyes flicked down toward their shoes, his tawny eyelashes fluttering slightly against one of the moles on his cheek. “We…we were walking in the sun, up some hill. …And I wanted you to call me Simon again but you _wouldn’t_ , of course” – Simon’s eyes returned momentarily to glare at Baz – “So I tackled you” – Baz snorted – “And we fell and suddenly you were very… _close_. And,” Simon continued, finally bringing his eyes up to defiantly meet Baz’s, “I woke up to find you watching me sleep.”

It was Baz’s turn to blush. “Only because your arm was glowing like a fucking faery had shit on it.”

“So was yours. Why was that, anyway?”

Baz’s arms dropped to his sides. “That…that communication spell might not have…entirely been your fault, Snow.”

Snow’s eyes glinted deviously. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Simon’s lips curled up. His face was nothing but trouble. “Why not, Baz?”

Baz glowered at Simon before turning to sit heavily on his mattress. “I assume, Snow, that you were awake when the professor explained that attaching a certain memory or…feeling to the spell may cause it to last…longer.” He twirled a stray thread on his sleeve until it snapped. 

Simon’s smile widened. “Yeah, and?”

“Well, I attached a feeling,” Baz mumbled.

Simon stepped forward so he could grin down at Baz. “The feeling of deep-rooted hatred for your nemesis?”

“You know bloody well what feeling, Snow,” Baz said gruffly, then pulled at the front of Simon’s shirt until he fell on top of Baz, who rolled him onto his back and kissed him with everything he’d held in his chest for seven years.

 

**_Simon_ **

Baz was kissing him like he was pouring seven years’ worth of feeling into his lips. Every spot on Simon’s face he targeted sent shivers along Simon’s scalp. Baz closed his lip over Simon’s and let it slowly fall away before returning to his vicious attack. His fingers were catching Simon’s hair between them as he pushed his hands up Simon’s head. Simon let out an embarrassing half-moan as Baz let his tongue flick against Simon’s teeth. He felt Baz smirk against his lips, but this was quickly replaced by a small gasp as Simon let his fingers glide along Baz’s jaw before taking a fistful of his ridiculously smooth hair and pushing Baz’s face into his own.

Simon tugged gently and Baz willingly tilted his head back, exposing his neck. Simon began to nip at the sensitive skin under Baz’s jaw and kissed his way down to his absurdly defined collarbones.

“Simon…” Baz breathed.

Simon grinned against Baz’s neck and balled his hands in the back of Baz’s shirt, brushing his lips along Baz’s collarbones and back up to his mouth. He wanted all of Baz under his lips, under his hands. Simon didn’t know for the life of him why he hadn’t done this sooner. 

After what seemed like hours, Baz reluctantly pulled his mouth away to look down at a pouting Simon.

“Snow…we’ve got Politikal Science in ten minutes.” 

Simon felt himself go deep red. “R-Right…”

Baz straightened up, pulling Simon into him by his shoulders and tucking his head into the crook of his neck. He let his arms slither around Simon’s back. Simon sighed happily. Baz echoed him. “We should go, Simon,” he said into his shoulder. 

Simon groaned and fell back onto the mattress as Baz stood up and lifted his book bag, turning toward their door. Simon watched him, one eye obscured by an arm that lay over his face. He reached behind him for the desk and picked up a pen.

_Come to bed, Baz._

Simon watched Baz’s shoulders tense and then fall as Baz sighed. He turned to Simon, smiling genuinely for once. “Oh, all right.”

 

**_Baz_ **

Simon’s back was pressed to his chest. Baz’s face was in his hair, and Simon’s pine-needle scent was right beneath his nose. It was real, and it was so much more than enough.

 

 


End file.
